Buy a ticket, take a ride
BIG NEWS, team: the Broxeys are moving to Texas. I’ll spare you the details but I was offered a once-in-a-career opportunity at JCP, so we’re packing up and heading south at the beginning of April. Will share more details on the upcoming adventure as they happen.
And now let’s all listen to my anthem these past few weeks while mulling over the decision.
Hot tip: freshneck.com
Discovered a killer concept over at freshneck.com: Netflix for ties. Owning ties is for the birds; this it the way to go. I’m furious with myself for not thinking of it first.
There are three plans starting at $15/month and a solid selection of ties (and accessories). I got my first shipment today and the ties are in great shape, so color me enthused.
(BTW I wasn’t paid for this.)
Three thoughts on “Silver Linings Playbook”
1. Either I wasn’t paying close enough attention or “Silver Linings Playbook” deserves a stop atop the list of most misleading trailers of all time. I expected a dark romantic comedy about a deranged football superfan being tamed/improved after meeting a girl. Not even close.
2. I realize it was probably the point of the story, but it’s one of the most mood-volatile movies I’ve ever seen. It goes from funny to sad, lighthearted to intense, warm to awkward in seconds flat, up down ha ha happy now sad then hilarious wait no oh god what’s happening such a bummer okay whew now everything is fine funny stuff no oh god here we go again. Repeat for 122 minutes.
3. Somehow even with the emotional turbulence, it still works. It’s just real enough to be worth the less-fun moments, and just funny enough to avoid being too heavy. A charming mess. Which, again, was probably the point. B+.
Longread of the year
The Innocent Man, from Texas Monthly. It’s incredibly long but if you’ve got the time on your hands, it is a perfect story. Absolutely perfect. Dig in.
If you were thinking about going to Nepal (or, if you already live there), consider yourself warned: there’s a man-eating leopard on the loose that, so far, has killed and devoured 15 people, including 10 children.
My case against trees
I spent about 12 hours raking and mulching leaves and shaking my fist at the sky this weekend, which helped to solidify an opinion I’ve held since becoming a homeowner: trees are for parks, not yards.
We had seven trees in our yard when we moved in last year. I’ve since chopped down two, and if I had it my way I’d get rid of the other five and then haul my chainsaw to other people’s yards and chop down every last one until my mission was complete.
I have three reasons for this opinion. I welcome your counter-arguments in support of trees, but I will warn you: I’ve heard all of them, and they aren’t effective.
1. Unwanted shade. Do you like sunlight? I do, and when it’s shining I’d like to sit in my backyard and bask in the glow. Right now with all the trees in our yard the sun peeks through in a hula-hoop sized spotlight, so as the sun floats to the horizon my wife and I have to chair-waddle every few minutes all over the yard chasing the glow until it’s finally gone for the day and we’re left sitting in the far corner of the yard like a couple of rubes.
Furthermore, the lawn looks like shit. You know those homeowners who water and fertilize and mulch and aerate their turf, who cut it blade-by-blade on their knees and read it Dr. Seuss books at night? I am the very opposite of those idiots. I could not possibly care less how my lawn looks. And yet, an abundance of trees means that the sun half of your yard needs to be mowed on the hour, and the half in the shade looks like an unkempt softball infield. Mow all the time or mow basically never, doesn’t matter because both options are awful.
2. Bugs, squirrels, birds and other varmint. I don’t know what “varmint” includes and I don’t feel like looking it up, so I’m going to continue to believe it means any harmless animal that eats your plants and vegetables and gnaws on your siding and chews through wires and basically screws your life up solely by existing. Trees attract varmint and them varmint be crazy annoying.
3. The goddamn leaves. I have a supercharged badass leaf blower and mulcher. Top of the line model. The thing could blow the shingles off the roof if I aimed it correctly, and I once sucked the tankini top off the neighbor chick sunbathing across the alley in a moment of euphoric - and mistaken - invincibility that I have since paid dearly for by my wife, the neighbors and numerous authorities.
Where was I? Oh right, the supercharged badass leaf blower. The thing is insanely powerful and has saved me countless hours I would have spent raking/mentally composing my suicide note.
Yet, even with probably the greatest outdoor power tool known to man, the act of picking up leaves is the most soul-crushing chore of all. It is pure hell. Not only does it take for-fucking-ever, but you spend 6 hours doing it Saturday afternoon and get your yard looking spotless, only to wake up Sunday with a blinding hangover (you pounded 14 beers to drown the realization of your pathetic life) and sharp shoulder pains (that leaf blower be heavy, yo) only to look out the window to check the weather because maybe you’ll go for a bike ride if it’s oh you have got to be fucking kidding me MORE LEAVES?! Fuck fuck fuck. And this is where you pull a Newman and scream at your wife that no matter what you do, no matter how hard you work to get ahead, the leaves keep coming and coming and goddammit it just never ends, meanwhile she’s trying in vain to earmuff both the kids in horror before finally packing up to stay at her sister’s for a while until you get a handle on your rage issues, you lunatic.
And no one wants that. So here’s the solution: rent a wood chipper, borrow your hermit uncle’s kick-ass chainsaw and get to chopping. Knock down every damn tree in your yard, spread the wood chips fancily around the deck, wave goodbye to the squirrels and smile at the sun, then go inside and calculate the money you’ll be saving on rakes and lawn bags and other bullshit expenditures you won’t need any more. Take half the money and give it to the rainforests to offset the nature-killing and take the other half to buy your poor wife some flowers. The kind you plant.
50 listens in, still love this song
“Carried Away” - Passion Pit
The five emotional stages of the Kevin Love injury
DENIAL: Oh, come on. No way. He did what? How? Sitting at home? Um, not possible. Probably just a rumor. I bet it started on Twitter. Or maybe Reddit? This is totally Reddit’s fault. Those fucking sociopaths, is there no limit to their depravity?
ANGER: Wait, Zgoda’s reporting it now? Fuuuuuuuuuuuck, it’s true. What kind of fucking moron breaks his hand while sitting at home? I know a ton of highly uncoordinated jackasses and not a one of them has broken a bone just chillaxing at the crib. Dude should be sleeping in a velvet-encased chamber and having his butler swaddle him in bubble wrap before taking step one each morning, what in god’s name could he have been doing to cause this? Unacceptable. Absolutely pathetic. Fuck him, fuck his inattentive and possibly non-existent butler and fuck David Kahn just because.
BARGAINING: Hey, maybe broke it on Soucherey’s nose during an interview? That would actually be fine. I’d be okay with that. Can that please be the reason?
DEPRESSION: Oh god, what do I have to look forward to now? D-Will taking a half-dozen off-balance threes each game while Adelman constructs a voodoo doll and stabs the living daylights out of it? JJ Barea flopping after a ballboy walks near him? Brandon Roy’s knees exploding so violently he collapses into shock and permanently scars all witnesses in attendance? Pek is pretty much guaranteed to murder someone. Love will come back to a shell of a team and resume his bellyaching ways. Ricky will pull a Morrison and openly weep during games. That’s the season, not a doubt in my mind. God, why do I even live here? The Wolves were all I had to offset the spirit-crushing cold of the winter. Now? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Seriously, give me one good positive about this situation. Wait, you know what, don’t even try. What’s the point. I need another drink.
ACCEPTANCE: [fill in later]
My Tumblr sabbatical is over
You’ll be shocked to learn that a summer of juggling the responsibilities of a demanding job, baby-raising, a couple dozen baseball games and an awe-inspiring social calendar does not leave much time for writing. Hence, the recent absence.
But summer is over, parenting is less time-consuming every passing day and I’ve driven away most of my friends using a lethal combination of snobbery and obnoxiousness. Which means: more tumblring. Hooray?
Yes, the sporadic, half-thought-out, hastily-edited Windbag Industries has made its triumphant return to entertain and inform you, with new posts daily or weekly or maybe never again. Who knows. Just wanted to say hello again. Sorry 4 the wait.